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Friday, March 25, 2011

The Daffodil Principle

The following is a true story that we send out at the beginning of everyspring season. It has a lesson well worth reading. If you have read itbefore please read it again. This is one valuable lesson!

The Daffodil Principle

Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come and see the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. Going and coming took most of a day - and I honestly did not have a free day until the following week.

"I will come next Tuesday," I promised, a little reluctantly, on herthird call. Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised,and so I drove the length of Route 91, continued on I-215, and finallyturned onto Route 18 and began to drive up the mountain highway. Thetops of the mountains were sheathed in clouds, and I had gone only a few miles when the road was completely covered with a wet, gray blanket of fog. I slowed to a crawl, my heart pounding. The road becomes narrow and winding toward the top of the mountain.

As I executed the hazardous turns at a snail's pace, I was praying toreach the turnoff at Blue Jay that would signify I had arrived. When Ifinally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted mygrandchildren I said, "Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road isinvisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the worldexcept you and these darling children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!"

My daughter smiled calmly, "We drive in this all the time, Mother."

"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears - and then I'mheading for home!" I assured her.

"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car. Themechanic just called, and they've finished repairing the engine," sheanswered.

"How far will we have to drive?" I asked cautiously.

"Just a few blocks,"Carolyn said cheerfully.

So we buckled up the children and went out to my car. "I'll drive,"Carolyn offered. "I'm used to this." We got into the car, and she begandriving.

In a few minutes I was aware that we were back on the Rim-of-the-World Road heading over the top of the mountain. "Where are we going?" I exclaimed, distressed to be back on the mountain road in the fog. "This isn't the way to the garage!"

"We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn smiled, "by way of thedaffodils."

"Carolyn, I said sternly, trying to sound as if I was still the motherand in charge of the situation, "please turn around. There is nothing in the world that I want to see enough to drive on this road in this weather."

"It's all right, Mother," She replied with a knowing grin. "I know whatI'm doing. I promise, you will never forgive yourself if you miss thisexperience."

And so my sweet, darling daughter who had never given me a minute ofdifficulty in her whole life was suddenly in charge - and she waskidnapping me! I couldn't believe it. Like it or not, I was on the wayto see some ridiculous daffodils - driving through the thick, graysilence of the mist-wrapped mountaintop at what I thought was risk to life and limb.

I muttered all the way. After about twenty minutes we turned onto asmall gravel road that branched down into an oak-filled hollow on theside of the mountain. The fog had lifted a little, but the sky waslowering, gray and heavy with clouds.

We parked in a small parking lot adjoining a little stone church. Fromour vantage point at the top of the mountain we could see beyond us, inthe mist, the crests of the San Bernardino range like the dark, humped backs of a herd of elephants. Far below us the fog-shrouded valleys, hills, and flatlands stretched away to the desert.

On the far side of the church I saw a pine-needle-covered path, withtowering evergreens and manzanita bushes and an inconspicuous, lettered sign "Daffodil Garden."

We each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path as itwound through the trees. The mountain sloped away from the side of the path in irregular dips, folds, and valleys, like a deeply creased skirt.

Live oaks, mountain laurel, shrubs, and bushes clustered in the folds,and in the gray, drizzling air, the green foliage looked dark andmonochromatic. I shivered. Then we turned a corner of the path, and Ilooked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight,unexpectedly and completely splendid. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes where it had run into every crevice and over every rise. Even in the mist-filled air, the mountainside was radiant, clothed in massive drifts and waterfalls of daffodils. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow.

Each different-colored variety (I learned later that there were morethan thirty-five varieties of daffodils in the vast display) was plantedas a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its ownunique hue.

In the center of this incredible and dazzling display of gold, a greatcascade of purple grape hyacinth flowed down like a waterfall ofblossoms framed in its own rock-lined basin, weaving through thebrilliant daffodils. A charming path wound throughout the garden. Therewere several resting stations, paved with stone and furnished withVictorian wooden benches and great tubs of coral and carmine tulips. Asthough this were not magnificent enough, Mother Nature had to add her own grace note - above the daffodils, a bevy of western bluebirds flitted and darted, flashing their brilliance. These charming littlebirds are the color of sapphires with breasts of magenta red. As theydance in the air, their colors are truly like jewels above the blowing,glowing daffodils. The effect was spectacular.

It did not matter that the sun was not shining. The brilliance of thedaffodils was like the glow of the brightest sunlit day. Words,wonderful as they are, simply cannot describe the incredible beauty of that flower-bedecked mountain top.

Five acres of flowers! (This too I discovered later when some of myquestions were answered.) "But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn. Iwas overflowing with gratitude that she brought me - even against mywill. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

"Who?" I asked again, almost speechless with wonder, "And how, and why, and when?"

"It's just one woman," Carolyn answered. "She lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a well-kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory.

We walked up to the house, my mind buzzing with questions. On the patio we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline. The first answer was a simple one. "50,000 bulbs," it read. The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman, two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1958."

There it was. The Daffodil Principle.

For me that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than thirty-five years before, had begun - one bulb at a time - to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. One bulb at a time.

There was no other way to do it. One bulb at a time. No shortcuts -simply loving the slow process of planting. Loving the work as itunfolded.

Loving an achievement that grew so slowly and that bloomed for onlythree weeks of each year. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, yearafter year, had changed the world.

This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable magnificence, beauty, andinspiration.

The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatestprinciple of celebration: learning to move toward our goals and desiresone step at a time - often just one baby-step at a time - learning tolove the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time.

When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of dailyeffort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.

"Carolyn," I said that morning on the top of the mountain as we left thehaven of daffodils, our minds and hearts still bathed and bemused by the splendors we had seen, "it's as though that remarkable woman hasneedle-pointed the earth! Decorated it. Just think of it, she plantedevery single bulb for more than thirty years. One bulb at a time! Andthat's the only way this garden could be created. Every individual bulbhad to be planted. There was no way of short-circuiting that process.Five acres of blooms. That magnificent cascade of hyacinth! All, just one bulb at a time."

The thought of it filled my mind. I was suddenly overwhelmed with theimplications of what I had seen. "It makes me sad in a way," I admittedto Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of awonderful goal thirty-five years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulbat a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have beenable to achieve!"

My wise daughter put the car into gear and summed up the message of the day in her direct way. "Start tomorrow," she said with the same knowing smile she had worn for most of the morning. Oh, profound wisdom!

It is pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way tomake learning a lesson a celebration instead of a cause for regret is toonly ask, "How can I put this to use tomorrow?"